Respeto

Cinemalaya was one of the festivals that was always ablaze with passion, raw talent and a soul of its own. We've seen many a good film together in previous festivals, when we were just dating. Until, for at time, it becomes swallowed by the mainstream, too commercialized. But perhaps these passions never really fade out, they were always just lurking. We were there and we felt as if it's survived its way out of commercialization and the mainstream. And here we are again, taking our 1-year old daughter along with us to a film festival.

When we were young, we judged our fellow youth as mainly apathetic, then pretentious when they tried to be artistic, or pseudo-intellectual when they set themselves out to become intellectual.  In our late thirties, maybe we've become slightly wiser, and now we say it's just thankfully energizing to be around younger people. We didn't even expect them to share any ideals, but many of them just spontaneously just do so.

The film was directed by a D.'s friend, and friendships are always a motivating hand to do something we would have otherwise passed on. I was curious, of course, but I haven't even seen the preview. It had something to do with Marcos, Martial Law, the "War on Drugs." That was enough.

My eyes wear teary all throughout this fiercely emotional film, moved by the sorrows mirroring our present society, and partly because of the guilt of my own political inertness. Respeto is a musical (hip-hop), poetic and artful criticism of Duterte's war on drugs, of impunity, this normalization of violence, rooted upon our own historical amnesia. Better than any academic critique, this movie is a poignant slap on our face. It doesn't just move you, it shakes you up as it tells you that violence begets violence. This dictatorship, this violence is intrinsically tied and traced back to the dictatorship that was literally still fresh in our memories. The movie is set on these streets, within the 2-kilometer radius of the city where I am, spot on, where the killings happen. We are all in it, we all let it happen.

When the lights went back, I saw that the theater was not just a full-house. Even the steps were occupied. The applause was thunderous. My eyes were still all moist against my glasses.

The woman beside me, a foreigner who smelled like cigarette smoke, complimented us on how our baby was quiet all throughout film. "I hope it didn't ruin your experience of the film." I said. We smiled and exchanged pleasantries. The cheers went on.

"21 dead in one night over 100.25 gms of shabu. While those involved and the names being dropped in connection with the 604kgs of shabu seized are enjoying due process that the govt deprives the poor and small players." 

On the way out of the theater, we our friend M. and S. We snapped some photos together, and they told us someone had and episode while watching. It might have been a severe panic attack.

We still can't stand to watch each other die.

Drunken Review

The Hundred Year Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared
Jonas Jonasson
epub, 404kb 350 pages

The title, very clever, should have been a forewarning. A venture of far-fetched possibilities in far-flung places. It still manages to guillotine our imagination, and sure it's a pure delight to read, if only to release or escape from our own daily realities.

It often sounds like a script, a very easy read, wrapped in a desire to be adapted into the big screen. It's more readable in an ebook, as if it already anticipated that the readers will consume it in their e-readers rather than a physical book.

The last time I felt like this was Robin Sloan's Mr. Penumbra's 24-hour bookstore. Although Sloan's book was also like a propaganda, or an outright advertisement for something. For Google, in particular. The Hundred Year Old Man...., on the other hand, seems like an outright advertisement for vodka. It lured me into buying a bottle each of British and Russian vodka. The Swedish ones are overpriced.

In Filipino, we have a concept called usapang lasing, "drunken-talk." The boastful stories armed with expletives, the claims of achievement, the inner secrets or verified gossips that only reveals itself when one is drunk. This book is just like that. A lot of often-fun drunken talk.

Maligayang Bati, mga anak!

Sulyap ng langit sa ating buhay

Maraming iyak ngunit mas marami ang mga ngiting dinulot mo sa ating munting mundo. Mapalad kami sa bawat segundong kasama namin kayo ni Kuya I. Salamat sa pagbibigay mo ng kabuluhan sa aming buhay. 


Nagmamahal ng lubos, ang iyong mga magulang.

The Science Teacher and Construction Worker

She stood up, she handed me her favorite Dr. Seuss, wordlessly telling me to read it to her.

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She claps with her whole body.

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There was an earthquake last night, I told him when he woke up. "You mean there are two tectonic plates rubbing against each other?" He quoted Nietzsche over lunch. Right now, the difference between my son and me is that he found out how vast the universe is --- he showed me how small earth and the sun is, in comparison to the many galaxies in the universe
Perhaps he won't be so surprised by our insignificance,

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In my head, there's an imaginary conversation

A: How can you read Che Guevarra on your staycation?
B: What's wrong with that?
A: He would rather die than stay in a hotel, your Che said.

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I will be a science teacher or astronaut while V. will be a construction worker, he said. Needless to say, he meant no insult to V., or to construction workers.

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At her age, 10, 11 months, she prefers one parent over the other. That baby center updates appraised us so. She prefers her mom, no question about it. She cries and sets off like an alarm when she's 1.5 feet away from her mother. But it only makes the moments she is with me much sweeter. Ealier tonight, you let me inside your play pen, and I read Neruda to you while you stood up, as if to assure me that you were never going to run away from me.

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I'm working in his room now. I'm documenting feedback listening to a Death Cab for Cutie song. He goes, "Can you add that song to my playlist?"

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Of course life's not all soap bubbles and butterflies, but thankfully enough, life isn't vapid or too tedious. We are together all the time.

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Think ----> Sing

I must have been searching for this song for a decade now. I've had the longstanding agony of having 20-year++ LSS on a song I didn't know the title. I've sifted through a great many alternative 90's playlists. I've combed through the albums of suspected artists. I must have hummed it to SoundHound or similar apps for hundreds of times. I never found it.

There was no one to confide to. How could I even explain what I was looking for? Even when I found it, I don't know anyone who might have even known this song. Even the search engines couldn't help me when I googled portions of the lyrics. All I remember was "to think about the moon." I never found it.

I conceded. There will always be unanswered questions in life.

The universe did me favor when I chanced upon listening a song called "Bliss" by a local act, Sundown Muse. Summer was coming, and I was listening to Spotify while washing the dishes. I heard the line "How do I presume to sing about the moon...."

My first thought was, it sounds like they plagiarized. On second thought, I thought this might have been the song and this must have been some kind of tribute. When I ran that line, Fossil's Moon came out. I must have listened to it at least a hundred times that night. A deep scar disappeared. It as if I resigned from my job. It is as if I won the lottery. I divided the atom. I explained the universe in a beautiful formula. I was transported back to my childhood room and this song was playing on the stereo.

I sing, repeatedly, from the lyrics of the song: "this elation evades description."

How can I presume to sing about the moon
Oh how can I presume to sing about the moon
Shall I say it is enchanted
Shall I say it is romantic nonsense
Now that I *** the adolescent swoon
Oh how can I presume to sing about the moon
Shall I say I love her dearly
Shall I say I need her ever near me
This elation evades description
So how can I convey my conviction
Oh satellite
Your majesty makes my heart rise
Oh concubine
Your radiance swells up my eyes
All the multitude that's faced you
Who can say they never once embraced the moon?

I spend all day with my family. I do, however, spend a significant amount of time developing curriculums for this teaching job, working online, rediscovering myself such as I have now. The lesson plans included /s/ and /th/ sounds. I may never have been able to figure it out if I didn't keep listening to what the universe was telling me:

thing ---> sing
think ----> sink

A simple inference makes it obvious.

Thank you, Universe. I'll keep quiet now and listen some more.